


Ale’s well that ends well (until the brew-tal hangover)

by prototyping



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Friendship, Gen, I hate puns btw, I hesitate to call this "humor" but, Mikleo/secondhand embarrassment is the only canon pairing, Platonic Relationships, bc I can't be the only one who wishes this had happened, drunkfic, everyone looks after shepherd dad basically, genfic, slight canon AU, this is a dumb thing but dumb things can be fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 13:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15486864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: Rose was wise to keep Sorey away from Lucas’ drinking expedition.





	Ale’s well that ends well (until the brew-tal hangover)

“Mikleo! Miiiiiiik-leoooo—”

“I’m right here, Sorey.” The flat response was spoken loudly, the only way to be heard over Sorey’s absentminded chanting. Mikleo’s right ear was nearly numb now, his hearing actually dimmed slightly from the assault of the constant, loud voice on his shoulder. He was doing his best to walk a straight path along the side of the road, but Sorey’s weight was difficult to manage under _normal_ circumstances—so now it was a feat with the way the taller boy was leaning heavily on him, his steps clumsy and dragging and frequently threatening to knock them both to the ground.

“Yesssss y’are,” Sorey slurred. “Alwaysh t’gether! Jus’ like—th’family always says, y’know?”

Mikleo winced. He wasn’t sure which was worse: how embarrassingly idiotic he sounded, or that awful smell on his breath. When he didn’t respond, Sorey continued his absent babbling. “Y’know, ish—kinna funny—they’re always sayin’ we’re inserapable—insepab—insap—” He struggled with the word for another frustrating ten seconds before giving up. “—T’gether,” he substituted. “ ‘Joined a’th’hip’—Nat’lie says—an’ now—we’re Shepherd ‘n Sub Lord. I’m yer vessel.” He broke into a short burst of laughter that quickly devolved into something unnervingly close to giggling. “ _Get it?_ We’re lit’rally—joined—and insepa—insep—”

“Yes, I get it,” said Mikleo, quickly and flatly, before Sorey could launch into another cycle. “Hilarious.”

Sorey’s giddy fit ended as abruptly as it began. “Where we at?” He peered at their surroundings with difficulty, his jerky movements nearly costing Mikleo his grip on his shoulders.

“Lastonbell. And we’re going to the inn, because you’re drunk.”

“Pffffft, naaaahhhh, I don’—drink—can’t get drunk…”

“So you say,” Mikleo remarked dryly. Fortunately it was late enough in the evening that the streets weren’t too crowded—and many of those around were equally as drunk—so Sorey wasn’t attracting as much attention as he would have normally. Still, he was definitely earning some looks from those who either recognized him or wondered how he was walking along with his arm seemingly around nothing.

“Oh, _hey_ —” he said loudly, jerking backwards and coming to an abrupt stop that nearly gave Mikleo whiplash. “Have y’seen Lucas? Gotta tell ‘im—thanksh—for the… for the…”

Mikleo sighed. “You just saw him.”

“Where?”

“Near the gate, where I found you. And I’m not letting you thank him for this—”

“Y’found me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Mikleo huffed impatiently. “That was less than five minutes ago, Sorey. How drunk are y—” He staggered as Sorey suddenly lurched to the side, swaying into another precarious turn. “Sorey! Quit it!” he snapped. “We’re almost— _hey—!_ ” Without warning Sorey threw his arms around his neck, crushing Mikleo against his chest in a tight hug. They very nearly lost their balance, but Mikleo caught fistfuls of Sorey’s cape and somehow managed to keep them both upright.

“What would I do wizzout you?” asked Sorey loudly, with far too much innocent sincerity.

“Probably be lying in a ditch somewhere,” Mikleo grunted. He tried to shove him off, but Sorey held fast despite his state of mind. “I’m about to put you in one anyway.”

Sorey fell into another fit of chittering laughter. “Yer so mean. That’s… ho-kay, though! I know y’care.”

“Shut up.” The hug was weird, the drunken honesty was weirder. “Seriously, _let go_. You look crazy.” Sorey only laughed again before burying his face in the top of Mikleo’s head—which was the last offense against personal space that Mikleo was willing to take. He slipped both hands under Sorey’s mantle and shoved his knuckles into his ribs, digging in without mercy until the taller boy yelped and reeled back. Mikleo seized hold of his shirt and hauled him properly onto his feet as he grumbled, “You _really_ owe me big for this.”

Ten minutes later, they’d covered as much distance as they should have in less than five thanks to Sorey’s continued stumbles and distractions, both of which were getting progressively worse. With less than a block to go until the inn, Mikleo brought them to a stop: Sorey was practically dead weight and he was feeling the burn of it. Leading him off the road, Mikleo helped—partly dropped—him to a seat on the grass, where Sorey promptly collapsed against the wooden fence at his back. Mikleo remained standing, but also leaned back against the planks as he caught his breath.

Sorey went on mumbling to himself and sometimes to Mikleo, but he was ignored. After a few minutes of letting his shoulders straighten out, Mikleo reluctantly leaned over to help him up again—but then stopped as a thought occurred to him. “Hey, Sorey— _Sorey_ ,” he stressed, gripping his friend’s shoulders when he was ignored in turn. Slowly, Sorey attempted to focus on his face. “Come on, let’s armatize.”

Sorey blinked, looking vaguely alarmed. “ ‘Sthere hellions?”

“ _No,_ no—” Mikleo held him down when he attempted to rise. “No, it’s fine. I’m just going to get us back to the inn.”

“What’s a’ th’inn?”

Inhaling deeply, Mikleo bit back his sarcasm and said tersely, “Just say my Name, Sorey.” Even without Sorey’s cooperation, that much should enable him to enact the transformation on his own. It was unlikely Sorey was in any state of mind to maintain full control of their joined body, either, so Mikleo would have little to no issue taking charge.

“M’kleo.”

“My _other_ name. My True Name.”

Sorey suddenly looked the most lucid Mikleo had seen him since picking him up, a hint of clarity slipping back into his green eyes before they dropped. “Can’t,” he muttered. “Too important.”

Mikleo sighed again. “It’s me, Sorey. You can say it around me.”

“Nnnno.” Sorey batted his hands away—hard enough to sting—and shook his head vigorously. “Y’only give it t’people yer… reeeaaally close to. That y’trust.”

It was said almost solemnly. For a moment Mikleo only stared down at him, conflicted between annoyance and sympathy and impatience and protective instinct. Finally, with another sigh, he leaned back against the fence again and crossed his arms. “That’s right.”

Sorey wrinkled his nose. “Feels… kinna wrong, y’know? Edna, ‘n Lailah… ‘n the others… we weren’t close when they told me theirs.”

“It can’t really be helped, all things considered.”

“ ‘S jus’ weird,” Sorey mumbled, bumping his knees together idly. “B’fore, I only said yers… once… an’ now I say it all th’time.”

“Twice,” Mikleo corrected him.

“ ‘Zit bother you?”

“...No.” Mikleo wasn’t like the others; he was still ridiculously young in comparison, and hadn’t carried around that part of himself as long as they had. He’d grown up with only two other people having ever spoken his Name: Gramps, who had first told him its meaning, and Sorey, who had pestered Mikleo about it as soon as he learned that he had one.

Gramps said it was his to give to whomever he wished, but also explained that it was an important part of his identity, something that, by tradition, was to be revealed only to those with whom Mikleo shared an unwavering bond— _those you trust with neither question nor reservation_ —and at seven years old, his best friend was a no-brainer.

He wouldn’t change that decision now. In a way, he was glad he’d given it to Sorey prior to their pact, as a personal decision rather than an obligation—not that he would ever admit it. He could barely bother to acknowledge that level of sentiment to himself, let alone to anyone else.

“It isn’t a matter of privacy,” he said thoughtfully, partly to himself. “It’s part of the pact. Besides, I don’t find it any weirder than using you as a vessel.”

“ ‘S weird,” Sorey agreed with a serious nod. Then— “No, ish not. Y’don’t feel any diff’rent, really… Zaveid, though—he feelsh weird. Weirdest. Weirder.” He chuckled under his breath as Mikleo glanced at him.

“We ‘feel’ different?”

“Yyyyyup. Not… _you_ , like… you. I mean yer… powersh. I guess? Element. Maybe. But th’feel like you. Water feelsh fine. ‘S kinna nice.”

“Then... what's wind feel like?”

Sorey scrunched up his face, staring hard across the street. “Kinna… sharp. An’... reeeaaally strong. Yer all strong—don’ get me wrong—sorry—but _he's,_ like…” He searched for the right word and for a moment Mikleo feared he’d take another ten minutes to find it. “Dang’rous,” said Sorey firmly. “Zaveid feelsh dang’rous.”

Mikleo frowned. “You can control it, though, right?”

“Uuuuhhh-huh.” Sorey’s nod was exaggerated. “He’s helpful. Really helpful. Couldn’t do it wizzout y’guysh. But wind’sh hard. Y’can tell Zaveid’s… good at it, though. An’ fire’s ssshuuuper easy. Lailah’s… Lailah’s warm, ‘n comfortable… but… she feelsh… sad, too,” he muttered. “Dezel was… he kinna felt like that. But his’s… It felt… hotter. An’... more like ‘n open wound. Not like Lailah,” he said more quietly. “Lailah’s... ‘smore like an ache.”

Mikleo was starting to feel uncomfortable. He hadn't meant to pry this deep, but it felt like he was taking advantage of Sorey’s state all the same.

“It’s…” Sorey trailed off, looking thoughtful and surprisingly close to sober. His eyes were distant as he stared down at the grass, but it was less an idle glaze and more the look of one whose mind was far off in another place. “Jus’... heavy… sometimes. Even if they try t’hide it. Or… maybe it’s… _‘cause_ they hide it,” he pondered. He looked pained, but it was hard to say whether it stemmed from emotion or his mind struggling against the alcohol to piece such a coherent thought together.

“Sorey—”

“An’ Edna, she’s… like… kinna like you. Y’both act tough, like y’don’t care… but y’do.” Sorey sighed loudly, apparently back in his more neutral stupor now that he’d moved on down the list. “She feelsh a lot. She worries. An’ yer…” He hummed and didn’t complete the thought, but Mikleo was curious now.

“I’m what? What does my power feel like?”

“It feelsh… like you,” Sorey proposed lamely.

Mikleo shot him a flat stare. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“It feelsh like… you’ve aaalways been.” He made some sort of grunting noise that might have been ‘I don’t know.’ “It feelsh… right. Nnnnatural, I guess. Y’know?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on muttering, “Arma...tizination… s’great. ‘S like… you all trust me, y’know? But… s’weird… sayin’ Names… we weren't close when they gave me theirsh. An’ those’re important. Right?”

“...Right.” It seemed they were going in circles now. With Sorey’s drunken alter ego dead-set on not speaking Mikleo’s Name, there was nothing to be done but continue the bothersome trek back to the inn. He also wanted to avoid further opportunity to hear anything Sorey might not have wanted him to; just because they were—almost—unerringly honest with each other didn’t mean they wouldn’t respect one another’s privacy.

Mikleo stood up and offered a hand, digging in his heels as he prepared to lift the majority of Sorey’s weight. “Well, come on. You can sit around on your butt inside.”

* * *

Zaveid gave a disgusted snort as he crossed his arms, peering skeptically at the Shepherd from under the brim of his hat. “Oh, _jeez_. He’s one of those _adorable_ drunks. Should’ve known.”

Mikleo shot him an annoyed glance. “You sure sound inconvenienced. Try actually dragging him across town.”

“A lightweight like him? I’d just wait for him to pass out and tote him off, no problem.” He gave Mikleo one of his sharper grins, the implication of the difference in their builds obvious. Mikleo only rolled his eyes from his seat on one of the beds, staggering slightly when Sorey suddenly leaned into him from behind.

“Yeah, and give all the humans a heart attack. Good call. Sorey, get _off_ —” He nudged him with an elbow, but Sorey only put more of his weight against him as they sat back-to-back, his head butting Mikleo’s with enough clumsy force to bruise, again.

“Well, I do agree there’s something endearing about him like this,” Lailah admitted. She was seated on the next bed over and looked amused despite her disapproving frown. “Although I’m disappointed he let himself get so carried away.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t his fault. Knowing Sorey, he didn’t even realize what he was drinking,” Mikleo pointed out, switching gears in a heartbeat to defend him. So it was all the more impressive, really, that he’d managed to swallow enough to get this drunk—or perhaps it was the opposite and he just completely lacked any tolerance for it. Although _impressive_ probably wasn’t the right word, anyway, Mikleo mused.

Edna looked openly entertained by all this from her seat on the windowsill. “And here I thought _you’d_ be the lightweight, Meebo.”

“No one asked you.”

“Hey, yeah.” Zaveid’s grin grew wider, if possible. “Mickey, go have a few drinks. I’m curious which one of you passes out first. My bet’s on you.”

“Same,” Edna agreed.

“I’m not condoning heavy drinking,” said Lailah firmly; “however, hypothetically speaking, I would have to say Mikleo, as well.”

“Lailah, _please_ don’t encourage them—”

Edna frowned. “That’s not much of a bet if everyone agrees.”

“Eh, you’re right.” Zaveid made a show of rubbing his chin for a moment. “Okay, new bet: how _many_ drinks you think he can take before he conks out—”

_“Would you be serious for just five seconds,”_ Mikleo demanded heatedly. He was given some reprieve as Sorey sat up straight, but a moment later had to smack Sorey’s wandering hand away before it could touch his hair. He glared down the two more troublesome seraphim once he was able. “What are we supposed to do with him?”

Zaveid shrugged. “Nothin’ you can do. He’ll either chuck it all up, or sleep it off and _then_ chuck it all up. Just make sure he stays on his side when he passes out—that’d be a pretty lame way for a Shepherd to go, y’know?”

Mikleo stared at him, puzzled. “Why does he need to—”

“Whew, sorry I’m late!” Rose announced as she stepped into the room. “You wouldn’t believe the—” Sorey’s attention redirected surprisingly fast, and in a blink he was on his feet and struggling to walk in her direction. She’d barely closed the door behind herself when he grabbed her by the shoulders and nearly knocked her backwards. She caught him under the arms with a startled, uncertain smile. “Whoa, there, big guy—”

“Rose— _Rose_ —Rose, y’missed it,” he said, as enthusiastically as his messy speech would allow. “Me ‘n Mikleo—we were outside, ‘n… ‘n there was thish—”

“Are you _drunk?_ ” Rose interrupted, her voice going up several pitches. She immediately leaned around him to shoot Mikleo a hard, judging look.

“What—what are you looking at _me_ for? I didn’t do this!”

“You might as well have! _You’re_ his babysitter!”

Mikleo opened his mouth to refute that, realized that he couldn’t quite argue the point, and instead just shut it again with a scowl. “I don’t watch him all the time! And you can thank Lucas for this.”

“ _Ughhh_ , seriously? Sorey, I _told_ you not to— _oof—_ ” She was also subjected to a merciless hug, looking mildly annoyed as her face was forced into his shoulder.

“He’s clingy, by the way,” Mikleo advised.

Rose twisted her head just enough to shoot a _Gee, you think?_ kind of look in his direction. “Okay, Sorey. There you go,” she urged, reaching around to pat his back. “Thanks for the hug, but let go now.”

To Mikleo’s irritation, Sorey actually obeyed and dropped his arms without any further preamble. “ _Hey_ , how come you listen to her?”

“Maybe you need to ask nicely,” Rose teased, straightening out the wrinkles in her clothes. “And anyway, how did he get out of your sight long enough to go and end up like _this?_ ”

“I told you, I don’t go out of my way to watch him constantly.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you need to as long as a certain mercenary’s in town.” She made another annoyed sound in her throat. “I might need to sit them both down after this and have a—”

“Yer pretty,” said Sorey suddenly. He’d been absently lingering in place beside her since letting go of her, and now stared at her as if just seeing her for the first time. “Really… really pretty. Did I tell y’that? ‘Cause y’are.”

Without missing a beat Rose smiled, but it was the way one smiled at a small child’s joke out of kindness rather than amusement. She reached up to ruffle his hair affectionately. “Thanks, Sorey. That’s sweet.”

“Hey, I never get any head-pats when _I_ compliment you,” Zaveid objected. He managed to sound genuinely hurt, but whether it was a joke or not was anyone’s guess.

“That’s because Sorey’s not a creep with ulterior motives,” she countered casually. She turned on her heel to face him, hands on her hips and expression skeptical. “And he called me pretty, which isn’t the same as ‘babe’ or ‘hot.’ ”

“She’s got you there,” Edna monotoned.

“ _Maybe,_ but he had to get totally wasted before he could even say that.”

“Exactly,” all three females replied in unison.

Zaveid cocked an eyebrow. “Sheesh, you all have weird taste.” More quietly, but still plenty audible, he muttered, “Out-suaved by a drunk choirboy. Damn.”

Sorey took that opportunity to lean forward into Rose, nuzzling the back of her head. “Prrrrretty,” he repeated. “ ‘N Lailah’s… pretty _too._ ‘N Edna. ‘N Rose. Yer all… vvvvery pretty. Ladies. Pretty ladies. All’ff you.”

Lailah chuckled into her hand. Edna smirked and asked, “Who’s the prettiest, Sorey?”

He reeled back from Rose and, without missing a beat, pointed at the wall two yards to Edna’s left with a serious look. “Al’sha,” he answered immediately. “She… _very_ pretty. Very pretty,” he repeated in a quieter voice, suddenly looking troubled. “Did... I tell’er that? I should… tell’er that. She deserves it. She should know. She deserves…”

“Hmph. Should’ve seen that one coming.” Edna sounded more than a little put out.

“Jealous?” Mikleo asked slyly.

“Shut up, Meebo.”

“That's not exactly denial.”

She struck her parasol against the floor with an irritable huff right as Lailah clapped her hands together and said loudly, “ _Okay,_ everyone! I think that’s enough excitement for one night.”

“She’s right. C’mon, Sorey.” Rose took hold of his arms and pushed him backwards until his knees touched the nearest bed, and then pushed again so that he sat down. “Let’s get you to bed so you can sleep this—hey!” She windmilled as he suddenly latched his arms around her waist and pulled her between his knees to hug her tightly again.

She sighed loudly, tilting her head back towards the ceiling. “ _Yes,_ Sorey, hugs are nice. But now it’s time to—” She went stiff as he began nuzzling her ribs the same way he’d done with her hair. “Ooookay, boss, that’s getting a little weird—” She gripped his shoulders and pried him firmly away from her—his face, at least—and then planted her hands on either side of his head, as one might with a dog, to tilt it back and direct his gaze up at her, holding his attention. “Cuddle time’s over, okay? Let me go.”

Sorey blinked at her a few times, slowly. His arms loosened even though they stayed, and he appeared to frown thoughtfully as his inebriated brain struggled to translate her words.

Then—

“Nnnope.” He hugged her again.

“ _Ugh._ ” Even Rose’s patience was starting to wear thin. “I don’t mind napping with him if I have to, but I don’t want him suffocating me all night.” Ignoring Zaveid’s snicker, she turned to Mikleo again. “You take him.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Uh, no.”

“Of all the people here, it’s the least weird if it’s you,” she reasoned. “You two are family and all.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m any more open to being suffocated than you are,” he countered flatly. “Don’t look at me.”

“What kind of gentleman are you?” she snapped. She returned to trying to peel Sorey’s arms off of her. “Oh, for crying out _loud_ , he’s strong—”

“Welp, looks like he’s made up his mind, Rose.” Zaveid clapped her heartily on the shoulder as he passed by. “Good luck. Try not to let him puke on you.”

“ _Hey!_ Don’t you just walk out of here!”

“Sorey.” Sometime during the discussion, Edna had slipped past everyone to stand beside him. At his name he drew back to stare down at the small seraph, who simply held out a hand. “Come with me.” It wasn’t a demand, but there was authority in her quiet tone all the same. To everyone’s surprise, Sorey abruptly dropped his hold on Rose to take Edna’s hand obediently. The group watched as she led him across the room, to the furthest bed, and nodded at it indicatively as she caught his gaze. “Bedtime,” she told him. “ _Now._ No buts.”

“Mmkay.” Sorey collapsed on top of the blankets, face-first into the pillow and fully dressed. Almost immediately, there was the sound of muffled snoring.

Edna sighed. “Honestly.” She took a seat at the foot of his bed, and then met the rest of the group’s stares with a flat look. “What.”

Lailah smothered a smile while Rose looked openly amused. “Look at you, playing the mom for once,” she teased. “You’re gonna steal Lailah’s schtick.”

“I’d say she’s more threatening than motherly,” Mikleo muttered loudly.

Edna _hmphed_ lightly. “I’ll pass on the parent role. _You’ve_ already got that covered—when you’re not letting the poor boy get wasted, that is.”

“Why does everyone act like I’m his parent?! And I told you, it wasn’t my fault!”

* * *

Sorey woke up to the worst headache of his life.

He groaned and discovered his mouth felt like it was full of cotton and his throat burned all the way down. Opening his eyes made him wince again as they were flooded with painfully white light. He rubbed at his face, trying to remember what had happened last—had he been knocked out during a battle? He certainly felt battered and crummy enough—but there were only blurred memories of Lastonbell and faces and voices that he couldn’t place. The throbbing in his temples quickly made him give up the effort.

He would have been content to lie there and wait out the pain, but he finally regained enough feeling outside his aching skull to realize he was severely overheated. Gritting his teeth, he began to push himself up—and abruptly stopped when his stomach objected, the touch of bile in his throat making him tense. He breathed through his nose slowly, in and out, resisting the urge to vomit through sheer force of will.

“Oh, hey, you’re finally awake.”

Sorey flinched as the voice rang in his ears. Why was Rose yelling? His throat and stomach were still too sensitive to attempt a verbal response, so he twitched his head in a nod. “Mm.” He felt the mattress sink a little behind him, and after another few deep breaths he was able to turn, slowly, and sit up properly. His eyes still stung when he opened them again, but it was a bit more bearable this time.

Rose’s face was blurred along with the rest of the room, but she was close enough for him to recognize a sympathetic smile. “You look terrible.”

He could’ve guessed as much. As he fumbled with the front of his shirt—his mantle had been removed, it seemed—he tried a short sentence. “What happened?” His voice was cracked and thin. If he looked half as bad as he sounded, he certainly wouldn’t refute her comment.

“You got drunk with Lucas, you big goof.”

He stared at her, blinking rapidly—partly to try and clear his hazy vision, partly in disbelief. “Wha…?”

She gently pushed his hands aside to unbutton his shirt for him. “I told you no booze, remember?”

“N-Not really,” he admitted with a wince. “Last thing I remember is… coming back to town…? Er, no, there was Alisha—”

“Arms up,” Rose told him. He obeyed and she pulled him free of his sweat-soaked shirt. He grimaced when he realized his undershirt was equally damp and clung to him tightly on all sides, but he didn’t complain and only mumbled a thanks. “Think you can get some water down?” she asked. When he nodded, she stood and disappeared from the room, returning a minute later with a full glass. “Drink it slow. And if you think you’re gonna barf, try to aim away from me.”

“Thanks,” he repeated. As he took it in small sips, she went on,

“We’re in no rush to leave, so rest up while you can. You should get some food in you, too, once you’re able.”

The latter was probably a ways off, since Sorey only made it halfway through his glass before his stomach lurched dangerously. He pinched his nose and breathed slowly, steadying his nerves and his nausea, but quickly resorted to lying back down on his stomach and burying his face in the cool side of his pillow. Rose rubbed his back, which gradually helped ease his stomach a little, but the weight in his head was going nowhere.

“How you feeling?” she asked after a couple minutes.

“Like I died,” was his muffled grumble.

“Pretty sure they call that a hangover.”

“Ugh.” How and why did people _do_ this? He turned his head just enough to watch her in the corner of his eye. “I don’t remember much… Did I do anything stupid?”

“Aaahhh, weeell…”

Sorey grunted a flat laugh. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if you complimented me more often.”

“After this, I’ll compliment you as much as you want.”

“Shepherd’s word,” she reminded him playfully. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Sorey spent the rest of the late morning drifting in and out of sleep. His headache was better at times and worse at others, although the general sense of aching all over was noticeably fading. He made it to the washroom once, on his own—and threw up more than he thought would be physically possible—and then collapsed back in bed and slept a few hours more.

It was around noon, he guessed, when he awoke to an itchy throat rather than a sore one, and a pounding in his head that was much less intense than before. It was an improvement, at least. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair as he sat up, groping blindly to the side for that glass of water and half-considering dumping it over his head—

“Look who’s back in the world of the living.”

_“Gah!”_ Sorey jumped, rapidly blinking through watering eyes as he struggled to adjust to the afternoon sunlight flooding the room. “Mikleo?”

“You look awful,” his friend replied in greeting. He was sitting in a chair he’d pulled up to the bedside, arms and legs crossed. Sorey’s laugh was more of a tired huff.

“So I’ve heard.” He reached again for the glass, only to grimace when he found it empty. “Heard I might’ve made an idiot out of myself, too.”

“Nothing you wouldn’t shrug off, knowing you.” Mikleo reached over and took it, rotating it between his fingers for a few seconds. “Suffice to say I’m the only one feeling inconvenienced, but that’s nothing new.” When he handed the glass back over, it was full again, and cold.

“Thanks.” After downing half of it and clearing his throat, Sorey added, “For last night, too. And—sorry. That probably wasn’t a good time for you, huh.”

“I can think of an infinite number of better ways I could have spent my night, but who’s counting?”

“You, apparently.” Sorey stretched as he climbed out of bed and stood up. He still felt like he’d been pushed down a hill or two, but he could hardly complain compared to before. He located his bag and pulled out a clean shirt to change; besides the sweat, he also smelled like something strong and bitter, the equivalent to the bad aftertaste in his mouth that he still couldn’t shake. As he tugged his shirt up over his head, he turned back and asked, “It… didn’t affect you guys, did it? Being your vessel and all?”

“No. Thankfully,” Mikleo grunted.

“That’s good. Not that I plan on doing it again, anyway.”

“Please don’t. You’ve given me enough secondhand embarrassment to last me a lifetime.”

“Heh… that bad, huh.”

“Let’s just say you were _not_ blessed with a singing voice.”

Sorey grinned meekly as he rejoined him and sat down on the bed’s edge. “Well, hey, at least nobody saw you with me.”

“And _you’re_ lucky most of the people up at that hour were in about the same state as you,” Mikleo chided. “Way to tear down the name you’ve made for yourself.”

His tone was still light, but Sorey recognized the edge in it all the same. Rubbing the back of his neck, he dropped his head with a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah, I… screwed up, didn’t I.”

He heard Mikleo exhale sharply. “Yes. But I’m not here to lecture. I’d put the fault on Lucas more than anyone.”

“Yeeaah, I… Rose mentioned he was involved…”

“You _really_ don’t remember that much?”

“I don’t think I remember anything after sundown yesterday.”

Mikleo shifted his weight, but instead of the annoyed tone that Sorey was expecting, he sounded almost resigned as he quipped, “Well, that’s probably best. What’s done is done, anyway.”

“Still, I owe you.”

That earned a small, flat bark of a laugh. “Yeah, you bet you do. And you can start by not moping; you’re pretty lame when you get all depressed.”

Sorey nodded as he sat up straight again, his smile tired but grateful. “ ‘Depressed’ is putting it a bit strongly, but… fair enough. Now! I don’t know about you, but I need some sunlight.” He stood up again, but Mikleo remained seated. Assuming he’d follow, Sorey made for the door.

“...Sorey.”

He stopped and looked back. Mikleo still hadn’t moved, and Sorey could only watch the back of his head as he wondered, “Yeah?”

When Mikleo didn’t respond for a few beats, Sorey turned around fully, and waited.

“...I admit you’ve gotten better about it,” began Mikleo slowly, “but don’t fall back into old habits. Especially now. If there’s something weighing on you, talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me,” he added indifferently. “But don’t give yourself any extra baggage if you can help it.”

Sorey blinked, and then frowned. “What exactly… did I say last night?”

“A lot, but at the same time not much.” Finally, Mikleo stood, but then only turned where he was to eye Sorey with a skeptical—but friendly, by his standards—look. “I’m just saying, you should know by now that nothing’s off the table when it comes to the rest of us. Don’t assume you’re being a bother—we’ll let you know if you are.”

He had a roundabout, dismissive way of showing it, but Sorey caught it all the same. He nodded again, returning the amiable part of his expression. “Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Mikleo moved to follow, his smile turned a little cocky. “You can keep your opinions on the girls to yourself, though. No one wants to hear you fawn over Alisha like that.”

“What?” Sorey stared, but Mikleo only bumped his shoulder as he strode past, ignoring him. “H-Hey! Mikleo! What did I say about Alisha? _Mikleo!_ ”


End file.
